


The Case of What William Whispered

by WhatLocked



Series: The William Watson Case Files [7]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bribes, M/M, Mention of drugs (just once), Secrets, Swearing, implied sex, just because, just something short and fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-24 07:06:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12007602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatLocked/pseuds/WhatLocked
Summary: During The Case of the Friendly Figh't, William Whispered something to John, concerning Mycroft.  At the time, Sherlock was too preoccupied to worry about it.  Now, though, well, now is a different story.





	The Case of What William Whispered

~~~~~~~~~~

A barely there breeze blew through the open window, brushing over his still sweat dampened skin as he sat against the bed head, looking down at Johns naked back slowly rising and falling as he breathed.  He wasn’t asleep yet.  Sherlock had memorised his breathing patterns that first night John had spent in his bed, but he was relaxed enough to the point of being almost asleep.

Sherlock reached over and, gently, dragged the tip of his finger from the tip of Johns gluteal cleft, up his spine all the way to the base of his neck.  He gave a small smile at the shiver this elicited from the smaller man.

“Go away” John mumbled into the pillow.  

“You need to get cleaned up and dressed,” Sherlock told him.

“Mmp.  Too tired” was the reply he got.

Sherlock shuffled down the bed, so he was level with John and rolled so he could drape his body over his partners.

“What did William tell you, the other day?” Sherlock asked, settling his chin on John's shoulder.

“He tells me lots of things, Sherlock” was Johns flat, tired reply.  “You’re gonna have to be more specific.”

Sherlock wriggled closer.  This had been bothering him for two days now.  William had whispered something, concerning Mycroft, to John.  At the time, they had been trying to convince William that he and John were not, in fact, evil deviants and then Brian had been there and Sherlock hadn’t really had a chance to think about it, because two boys under the age of five, in one room, was exhausting.  But since two o’clock that afternoon, when Jodi collected Brian, the memory had come back to him and it occurred to Sherlock, that John hadn’t shared what William had said to him.

“About Mycroft.  He whispered something in your ear.  I was just wondering what it was.”  Sherlock spoke as if it were unimportant, but the truth was, it was bugging him.

“Nothing important” was the reply John gave and Sherlock could hear the smile on his face.  Apparently, he hadn’t come off as nonchalant as he had hoped.  Or more likely, John knew him too well.

“Johhhn.”  Sherlock's voice was low and almost plaintive.  He nosed at the skin behind John's ear and let his fingers lightly dance down Johns spine again.

In response, John rolled over onto his back, which was no easy feat as Sherlock didn’t feel the need to undrape himself from John, and looked Sherlock in the eye.  “I’m impressed,” he said.  Not what Sherlock was expecting to hear.  “That was over two days ago and you are only just asking about it now.  You have managed to hold out for over forty-eight hours.”

“Only since Brian left this afternoon.  Before that, I was trying to keep my sanity.”

“So, you’ve thinking about this ever since this afternoon?”

“Yes.”

“You were thinking about your brother, while we had sex?”

“Yes..what, No.  God, no, John, just, don’t ever say that again.  Where are you going?”

John had managed to break away from Sherlock's lanky grip and had slid off the bed and was now heading away from Sherlock.  “To get cleaned up and then dressed.  I have to be up early to take William to the aquarium since you want to flaunt around the flat naked tomorrow.”

“John.”

There was no reply.

“I don’t flaunt.”

Chuckle.  “Yeah, you do.”

That was all there was on the subject that night.

~o~

Sherlock was having a wonderful day wearing nothing at all.  John and William had left at quarter to nine, after a very enthusiastic William had jumped all over their bed and explained, in the most inaccurate detail possible, about the giant sea monster that Brian had told him was now housed at the aquarium and about how he was going to get a turtle while he was there.  Mrs Hudson had promised to stay downstairs unless anything smelled like it was burning - which Sherlock promptly told her would not happen as it was far too hot to conduct anything that could result in combustion- and she reassured him that she would keep all clients and visitors at bay.

Several fans, strategically placed around the kitchen and living area, were cooling off his skin perfectly and the case Lestrade’s team had given up on, not long before Sherlock had started helping them many years ago, was spread out on the floor, tables and walls.  John had made it perfectly clear that they were to be completely packed away and put in the highest cupboard, preferably in a locked box, before he and William arrived home.  They had both agreed that victims of apparent vampire attacks were not conducive to ridding William of his belief of fairy tale monsters.

It had been three hours and Sherlock had just found the first link between two of the five victims when he heard the downstairs door open and close again.  Mrs Hudson had yelled something about bingo, or chickens, or something up the stairs earlier and had left, so Sherlock had assumed that it was her returning.

Until he heard the tap on the steps.

“Piss off, Mycroft” he yelled before his brother had even reached the first landing, not looking away from the toxicology report in his hand.

Unfortunately, Mycroft was just as stubborn as himself, and before long, was standing in the doorway to flat B.

“Brother” he greeted.

“No” was Sherlock's reply, finally lowering the file down and looking up at his brother.

“You do realise they have invented this wonderful thing called air conditioning, yes?” Mycroft asked, looking down at the file, thankfully covering certain parts of his brother's anatomy, before looking back up at his face, an exasperated cock of the eyebrow that informed Sherlock that his brother was once again, unimpressed with Sherlock's behaviour.

Sherlock waved his brothers comment away.  Clearly, he knew about air conditioning, as he had blown up the unit at their family home when he was eleven.  The problem was, that the last three times that Mrs Hudson had arranged someone to come and get a quote, there had been … incidents, at the flat.  Word soon got around and it was now hard to find a reputable air conditioning installer to come back to the flat.  “What do you want, Mycroft?”

Mycroft, much to Sherlock's chagrin, took this as an invitation to enter the flat and came in and made himself comfortable in Johns chair.  “Mummy went home this morning.”   The look that followed that statement showed Sherlock that he was still very unimpressed with Sherlock for extending the invitation, unknowingly on Mycroft’s behalf, to their mother to stay with her first born for this trip.  She was there for a full three days.  Sherlock had thought it utterly delightful but was unsure as to why Mycroft was now there, at his flat. 

“Why would I care, Mycroft.  I haven’t spoken to the woman in some time.  Almost fifteen years in fact.”

“Yes, she mentioned that fact as well,” Mycroft said.  There was a silence, one that didn’t fit well with Sherlock, before Mycroft spoke again.  “She expressed an interest in contacting you.”

“Not interested.”  The words were out so fast they overlapped the last two words spoken by Mycroft.

“I assumed as much.”

“Is that all you had to say?”

“It is” Mycroft replied, but made no move to get up. 

Again, there was silence but this time it was just annoying.

“Well…” Sherlock waved his hand in the direction of the door.  Mycroft gave a roll of his eyes and made to stand up.

“It was nice to see you too, brother” he grumbled and picked up his umbrella.  “Do enjoy the rest of this heat.  I hear it is going to last for a good two weeks more.”

“Kindly fuc..” Sherlock stopped mid cuss as a sudden realisation dawned on him.  “No, actually, please, take a seat.”

Sherlock could see the confusion and possibly a bit of intrigue on his brothers face before he sat his perfectly tailored arse back in the armchair.

“It has come to my attention” Sherlock began, once he knew he had his brother's full attention.  “That you and William, despite you being an arch enemy of his” this earned another eye-roll from Mycroft, which Sherlock ignored, “That you have been sharing secrets with William.  What are they?”

It seemed that Mycroft knew exactly what Sherlock was referring to, but rather than divulge the secrets he just grinned, in a rather sinister fashion, and stood back up.”

“Don’t tell me the great Sherlock Holmes, only Consulting Detective in the world, observer of everything, is stumped by a four-year-old boy.”  It was clear that Mycroft was not going to be of any help, therefore, his presence was intolerable.

“Now you may kindly fuck off, Mycroft.”

“And you kiss your dear doctor with that mouth, Sherlock” Mycroft asked in mock shock, as he made his way to the door.

“Amongst other things, Mycroft.”  Sherlock took a small amount of satisfaction at the frown this put on his brothers face, but the satisfaction didn’t last long.

“If we are going to go down this road, brother mine, then you may not want to ask Detective Inspector Lestrade why he has a slight limp, next time you see him.”

And as Sherlock drew a frown of his own, his brother left the flat, a small yet victorious smile on his face, leaving Sherlock with no useful information but an unwanted image of Lestrade and his brother have very vigorous sex.  He spent the next twenty minutes purging his mind palace of that particular conversation with his brother.

~o~

William was hanging upside down, off the edge of the couch, his face was bright red.  Sherlock was right next to him, also hanging off the couch upside down, more slumped and tucked up at the legs.  His face wasn’t as red.

John was at a funeral of some old general or private or something who had succumbed to the final stages of old age and passed peacefully in his sleep at the age of 83.  Or did he die in combat at age 38?  Sherlock couldn’t remember, nor was he concerned because this was the first time in a week that he had been left alone with William.  

Since Mycroft was being an insufferable arse and not divulging the secrets he shared with a four-year-old boy, with Sherlock, Sherlock had tried multiple times with John.  He had even refused to withhold sex.  Unfortunately, John took that as giving and receiving, therefore refused to give Sherlock even a simple hand-job in the shower so Sherlock had had to lift that embargo.  

Sherlock also knew that John would put a stop to Sherlock asking William straight-out what it was Mycroft was sharing with him, so this is why today was the optimal day to finally solve this problem once and for all because John wasn’t here to put a stop to it and because Sherlock hadn’t told John what he was doing, John hadn’t specifically told him not to do it, therefore he was not going against John’s wishes.  All in all, things were perfect.

“Is Mr Bombadil safe?” Sherlock asked, staring at the TV, not taking in a single image.

“He ith upthtairth with Gerald” William replied, sounding a bit awkward due to his new-found angle.  “Am I ath red ath a tomato yet?”

Sherlock turned his head to look at William.  “Almost.  I only ask after Mr Bombadil’s welfare because my brother is coming around later.”  It was true.  It had been over two days since Mycroft made himself present in Sherlock's life.  A visit was due.

William let out a small ‘ _hurumph_ ’ and re-focused his attention back on the TV.  Despite the apparent secrets bestowed on the small boy, by the British Government, William still hadn’t forgiven Mycroft for stealing his beloved stuffed toy and no-one had deemed it necessary to tell him that Mycroft actually had nothing to do with the dinosaurs abduction.  

“Anyway, as I was saying” Sherlock continued, noting that William would have to turn up the right way in approximately one and a half minutes before his breathing became compromised and he began to feel dizzy.  “Mycroft is coming over and I have a feeling that, in order to try and get close to Mr Bombadil, once more, he may try some underhand tactics.  You need to turn the right way now.  You are redder than a tomato and your father will have rather loud words with me if he comes home to find you have passed out.”

William scrambled to sit up and Sherlock observed him shake his head, trying to get his bearings once more. “Whatth underhand tic-tacs?”

“ _Tactics_ ” Sherlock corrected, also righting himself, but much slower than William.  “And it is basically him being sneaky so he can gain your trust.”  Sherlock had thought about just asking William right out what Mycroft had been telling him, but the boy was too loyal for his own good, just like his father, and Sherlock knew he wouldn’t give up the answers so easily.  

William sent Sherlock a scowl.  “Mycroft ith alwayth thneaky.  That’th why we don’t trutht him.  You thaid tho.”

Sherlock sent William a small smile.  He had learnt well.  “Yes, but I fear that he will try and gain your trust by maybe telling you, certain secrets maybe?”  Sherlock watched William with a side glance, trying not to seem too eager.  What he saw wasn’t promising.  William had straightened up and a determined look had made its way on his face.  It was identical to the look John got when he was being particularly stubborn.  Sometimes, not even Sherlock could break through that wall.  

“Mycroft doethn’t tell me thecretth” he said, too stiffly for it to be the truth.

“But, if he did, you know you could tell me.  That way, I could tell you if he is tricking you or not.”

The frown on the small face next to him deepened.  “It’th not nith to thare thecreth.  That would make them not a thecret anymore.”

“But, sometimes you can share secrets, should even.  I promise, if you tell me, the secret will stay safe with me.”

“I’m going to play in my room now” William announced, sliding off the couch and heading away from Sherlock.  As far as the child was concerned, this conversation was over.  Whatever Mycroft had told him was obviously something important, something worth knowing, which meant that Sherlock had to know, also.  

That meant playing dirty.

“I’ll buy you a puppy” He called out as William turned the corner, out of view. 

Clearly, the tone of his voice was desperate enough that even a four-year-old knew it was an empty promise because the sound of Williams determined, unimpressed foot steps going up the stairs was the only response he got.

~o~

“I have nothing you would be interested in.  Go away.  I want to enjoy my lunch.”

“Glen…”

“Greg.”

“Gary.”

“What?”

“I thought we were listing men's names that started with G.”

“It’s my name, you ginormous berk.  Greg!”

…

“Are you sure?”

“Leave. Now.”

“But I need your help.”

“My help?”

“Yes, your help.  Did I stutter.”

“No, It’s just…never mind.  What did you need, Sherlock?”

“Well…”

“Yes, please, make yourself comfortable.”

“I don’t know if I would say the chairs in your office are comfortable, but I know how stingy the government are.  Apparently, fornicating with the head…”

“Stop right there.  Tell me your problem so I can answer it and then you can leave.  And please, never use the word fornicating again.”

“Well, to be fair, you are the one who pulled us off topic in the first place.”

“Sherlock, please.  It’s been a crap day and it’s not looking like it is getting any better.”

“Fine.  As I was saying before you interrupted me, you know my brother fairly well.”

“Hmmm.”

“And we all know there are things that he doesn’t tell me.  For some reason, he likes to think that I actually enjoy his pointless little guessing games.  Granted, it was fun when I was a child, but surely he must realise that as one grows…”

“Off track, Sherlock.   The problem.  And please, be direct.”

“Right.  So, it appears Mycroft has been telling William secrets and I want to know what they are.”

“Sorry, can’t help.”

“Is this one of those relationship things that means we can’t tell certain things about our partners to other people because I can assure you, I am willing to break that code.   For example, John’s not lucky when it comes to poker, he can count cards.”  
“No, Sherlock, it isn’t one of those things.  It is just a case of not actually knowing.  Believe it or not, Mycroft and myself do have other things to discuss in our spare time, not relating to you and your little family.  And what do you mean John can count cards.”

“You never heard it from me, thank you for your time Detective Inspector and have a good day.”  
“Sherlock….SHERLOCK….bloody bastard.”

~o~

“I will do no such thing, Sherlock Holmes.”

“But Mrs Hudson.  I _need_ your help.”  Sherlock was desperate.  At this rate, he was going to go bald from pulling out his hair, and wouldn’t that be tragic, since he had gotten lucky in the gene pool and inherited his uncle Rudy’s head of full hair, much to Mycroft’s disappointment. That smarmy git was going to be bald before he hit 60, just like their father.

“I do help.  I make you tea and vacuum your floors.”

“And you do it so wonderfully, Mrs Hudson.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, young man.  Neither will your bribes” she shot, flapping her hand towards the pot plant on the table.  

“It is a gift, Mrs Hudson and it will be nothing too untoward” he promised.  “Just make chocolate fudge brownies and invite William over for an afternoon snack.  All you have to do then is pretend to swap secrets, send the boy back up, in which case, I will know you have the information and will come down and retrieve it from you.  He will be none the wiser.”

“Leave, Sherlock, and take your _gift_ with you.  I’m not interested.”

Sherlock knew that tone.  That was the sound of him losing a battle.  He looked at the plant on the table.  “I can’t take the gift with me” he mumbled despondently.  “John will have a fit if I bring marijuana into the house.”

“Then I suggest you find another home for it because I don’t want it in my flat” and with that, she picked up the plant and thrust it into his hands.  “Trying to get an old lady into tricking a four-year-old.  That’s low, Sherlock, even for you.”

Sherlock took the plant and made his way out of flat A, trying to think of what he could do with the plant.

Two and a half hours later Sherlock returned home, somewhat satisfied that there was an illegal plant growing behind Mycroft’s greenhouse.

~o~

It had been three weeks since Sherlock had learnt that Mycroft was telling William secrets.  Three weeks of almost constantly brooding over the problem.  There had been the cold case for the first week and then a couple of small cases to distract him from the problem, but it was always there, waiting for him, whenever the case was finished.  He had tried everyone and not a single person was budging.  Clearly, he was never going to find out what Mycroft had told William.  

He had failed.  A four-year-old had bested him.  He may as well retire.

“You’re not still sulking?”  John's voice floated into his head, disturbing the self-pity he was wallowing in.

“I don’t sulk” Sherlock replied, his voice sounding as dead as he felt.  His eyes snapped open when he heard John chuckle.

“Yeah you do, budge up” and without waiting for Sherlock to move, he swatted the man’s long legs off of the couch and sat in the now vacant spot.  Rather than sit up, Sherlock just swung his legs back up and rested them on Johns lap.

“It really is bugging you, isn’t it” John stated, instantly starting to massage Sherlock's ankles.  Until John, Sherlock hadn’t realised how tense his ankles got and a small sigh escaped his lips as John's thumb dug under the talus bone.  “Why is it bothering you?”

Sherlock knew John knew he knew what he was talking about so he didn’t need to ask the other man what he was on about.  He also didn’t want to admit the real reason it was bothering him.  That reason was that Sherlock was a ~~nosy~~ curious person by nature.  If there was something to know, he wanted to know it.  If it was about those closest to him, he wanted to know it even more.  It was just who he was.  That reason was not going to appeal to John, nor make him sympathetic towards Sherlock's plight.  This was going to have to take some slight embellishments.

“When I was young, as you know I didn’t have many friends. Mycroft and my dog were it” Sherlock began and was happy to feel Johns hands, working down his ankle to his heel.  “Mycroft liked to play these games, where he would set something up for me to figure out. He would give me the barest of clues.  When I got them right he would praise me and since I never got that praise from Mummy, I lapped it up.  Now, whenever I don’t get something right, I feel like I have completely failed.  It leaves a hole inside of me that eats away at me, feeding my self-hate.  It’s like I am not good enough.”

There was silence in the room and John's hands slowed their movements over the arch of his foot.  Suddenly, John was laughing, and not just chuckling.  He was full-on having a good laugh, body shaking, eyes welling up.  

“God, you’re full of shit” he stated once he had finally quietened down.

“John, I assure you, none of that story was made up.”

Another huff of laughter left Johns mouth.  “Maybe not the part about you and Mycroft actually acting like brothers or the part about your mum being a bitch, but the rest of it… You almost had me though.”

“Where did I lose you?”

“ ‘ _Now, whenever I don’t get something right, I feel like I have completely failed.  It leaves a hole inside of me that eats away at me, feeding my self-hate_.’  Jesus, talk about laying it on thick.  Why can’t you just say you’re nosy.”

“Curious.”

“Fine, curious, whatever.  It’s not a sin to want to know things, just for the sake of knowing things.  Even dull boring things such as Mycroft feeds William lemon sherbets from his pocket, the ones he doesn’t let you know about because you will pay him out about his weight, which is a perfectly healthy weight by the way.”

 _Lemon Sherbets_.  Sherlock thought to himself.  _All of this over a few bloody Lemon Sherbets!_

“He has also told William where you keep your own sweets hidden, and William has been helping himself to them.  Keep in mind that if you tell William, or Mycroft that I have told you any of this I will throw out every single experiment I find in this flat for the unforeseeable future. ”

Sherlock pouted, knowing full well that John would hold true to his threat.  Instead of dwelling on the fact that he couldn’t taunt Mycroft about his sherbet addiction, he focused on the second part of the revelation.  “I thought it was Mrs Hudson who had been stealing my lollies.  Assumed she had found them when she was tidying up.”

“Hmmm, no.  It’s been William, although he is careful to only take one every now and then, so you don’t become suspicious and move hiding places.”

“Smart boy.”

Silence filled the room again, and John's hands left Sherlocks left foot, only to start working on his right.

“Why do you hide your lollies?” John asked as he rubbed circles on the top of Sherlock's big toe.  

“Mummy did not approve of treats, so when Grand-mere or Mycroft got them for me, I hid them so she wouldn’t throw them out.”

“I’m not going to stop you from having sweets, Sherlock” John reassured.

“I know” Sherlock replied.  “But it was a habit that carried through with me into boarding school and then university.  It sort of never left.  Now, if it gives William a chance to think he has bested me, then I suppose there is no harm in stopping it.”

“He did best you, there is no thinking about it” John replied, pushing Sherlock's relaxed feet off of his lap.  “Come on, bed.  It’s late and you didn’t sleep last night.”

“He didn’t best me.  It took Mycroft to tell him exactly where they were.”  Sherlock reluctantly stood up from the couch and followed John out of the living room.  

“Wasn’t really hard to figure out, love” John replied, switching the light off in the kitchen.  “I found them all within a couple of weeks of living here.  The false book on fly fishing in the book shelf, the small plastic box underneath the bathroom cabinet and back of the bottom right-hand cupboard in the kitchen, in the old _Cooks Dance Floor Wax_ tin.  Is that all of them?”

“Almost” Sherlock replied, astounded that John had been so observant as to find the one under the bathroom cupboard.  “You missed one though.”

“Care to tell me where it is?” John asked as they reached the bedroom.

“If you want that information, John, you are going to have to work for it” Sherlock replied, leaning against the now closed bedroom door, a cheeky glint in his eye.

“That, my dear Sherlock, can most certainly be arranged” was Johns response, as he grabbed the waistband of Sherlock's trousers and yanked him forward.

Later that night, Sherlock slept, his entire body more relaxed than he could ever remember it feeling, with John stretched out next to him - small snores escaping both of their lips - both of them slightly sticky, while a half empty tin of Wine Gums sat upon the bedside table.


End file.
